Flagged
by pinksnail
Summary: Dark AU. They are living in a world where anyone can become a country and with it comes not only the glory but also the responsibility those nations bare. The country lives forever in public interest until the day they are replaced, often by means not entirely ethical but completely legal. Murder. [In hiatus until it undergoes revision]
1. Liechtenstein & Switzerland

**Flagged**

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**Liechtenstein and Switzerland**

Out of the car and into the mansion she was guided. Her brother's firm grip on her shoulders is what steered her through the decorative corridors littered with bodies of the nameless. Past the pale, past the red... Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. The only thing keeping her from freezing up was the tight force against her shoulder blades keeping her in check with reality.

The door was ajar. The blood seeped out. She knew she was at their destination.

The soles of her shoes slapped against the thick liquid below as she was slowly lead over to the form of a young boy. He looked even younger than herself, though in reality she knew this child was more than 30 years old. The image was deceiving but it did its job. She felt something constrict painfully inside her.

"Come on now Erika," Her brother smiled gently, giving her a small nudge forwards. She could see the elation and fulfilment gleaming in his eyes. The sight had her entranced. She could not remember seeing anything more beautiful than this, her brother's expression which was usually so saddened and serious. "Take the flag. It's all for you."

He was happy. She should be too.

She reached down a delicate hand towards the flag adorned in red, blue and a golden crown. The flag was clenched like a lifeline in the boy's fist. She hesitated, her fingers drawing back.

"It won't hurt for too long. Believe me Erika; I've already done it." He pulled out a red flag emblazoned with a white cross from his jacket's pocket. He held it in front of her eyes as an act of reassurance.

The pain was not what she was worried about. This was wrong.

So very wrong.

She gave him one of her smiles, the ones he loved so much. "I know Vash. I trust you."

Without wavering this time, she extended out her hand and snagged the cloth in between her fingers, wrenching it from the boy's lifeless grip.

The moment she made contact with the flag her skin seared. The burning prickling sensation flooded into body, set fire to her skin, her insides. Images of centuries and centuries of splendour and hardship infested her mind like locust. She could not feel or see anything but the pain and the memories. It was agony.

She withed in the blood that was not her own, her body twitching and convulsing uncontrollably. Her back arched and her neck snapped backwards from the force. It was in that moment that the nightmare stopped.

Or maybe it had only just begun.

"Erika! Erika!" She heard a voice call.

She opened her eyes and saw her brother. He looked different than before. He seemed to glow now. There was some strange power manifesting inside him that she could feel spreading throughout the room. She could feel it from within herself too.

"Switzerland..." The world rolled off her tongue before she even knew what she was saying.

Her brother let out a relieved huff as he raised her from the ground. He was glad to see she was alright. "Hello Liechtenstein." He said, lips stretching into a rare smile. "Your voice sounds a bit different, the accent has changed slightly. It must be because you are the embodiment of Liechtenstein now. I guess you no longer count as a Swiss citizen now that you're your own country."

"I'm a nation..." She said rather breathlessly. She felt dazed.

"I know. We can never get old, remember things that happened hundreds of years ago and... We can't get ill... Erika! We can't get ill!" In his exhilaration he picked his sister up off the ground and spun her around. He set her back down, practically grinning. "You'll live! You won't die now; the asthma is gone!"

Liechtenstein nodded meekly, forcing a smile upon her face.

She could not deny the wonderful feeling of vigour and potential coursing through her veins. It was invigorating and fairly overwhelming. Just the thought of her life-threatening illness never being able to bother her again was enough to make her dizzy with happiness.

But then she looked down to the body by her feet, sprawled and mangled. He was killed by her own brother without a second thought. He had done it for her, to keep his sister alive and well. But what about them, the people who were now not alive and well because Vash had murdered them? There must have been more than over 20 dead here today.

How many died from the bomb her brother had set off? How many had he shot, stabbed?

The boy by her feet died from a bullet to the head.

The older woman across the room still had the knife buried within her stomach, her body curled around the weapon.

The public had adored these two nations. They had been kind, generous and charismatic. And they had just gone and straight-up killed them. All for two flags, for a brother who didn't want his sister to die from her severe asthma attacks.

They left together, holding hands. Back out the door, through the hallways. Past the pale, past the red. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Out of the mansion and into the car. She slipped into the front seat, her brother closing her door behind her. He got in beside her, started the car and began to drive.

Liechtenstein stared down at the flag in her lap.

It was her lifeline. It was what gave her power yet it was also her vulnerability. It made her a target.

She could be sure that the day her flag would go would be the day she died because who on earth just stole the flag these days? Or even asked for it?

It would be her murder.

She rubbed the silky material in between her fingers, as her eyelids began to droop. For the rest of the car journey she slept dreaming not of her impending death, but of the death of the boy who had been Liechtenstein before her.

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**Oh what on earth did I just write? That was so dark!**

**But then I find I normally write this sort of stuff better, the extreme emotions and all that jazz.**

**So yeah... This story is going to be lots of little snippets from the lives of the Hetalia characters in the AU-ish sort of world. They are not going to be 2p but just people pushed over the edge most of the time.**

**I may revisit some of the characters if I feel like it would be interesting to expand upon their story more. I think next time I may be going for England or Russia. No promises though.**


	2. England & America

**England and America**

The newspaper rustled in England's hands as he turned the page. He sipped his tea leisurely before reading out aloud, "'In Colchester town centre, Friday the 5th of August, a bomb was set off by a NH (Nation Hunter) group who had allegedly received intelligence of England's whereabouts. 86 have been counted dead so far yet the body of the nation was not found in the wreckage. It is believed this tip off was false or England has managed to pull off yet another lucky escape...' The imbeciles. I'm nowhere near Colchester. At least try looking in the right county next time. Not bloody Essex; I'm in Devon!"

"Yeah. These nation hunters don't really know there stuff, do they?" America added, leaning over the coffee table between them to peer at the article.

"It would seem so." England said and then huffed tetchily, "You would think that the people who form NH groups would try harder. Sometimes I feel as if they put no effort in at all."

"Well at least we know this safe house is doing its job. It should stay good for a while now. While they're still reconvening you won't have to move again. Stay and take a load off!"

"That was my plan." England agreed before turning the page of the Daily Mail again. His eyes raked over the page, finding it hard to miss the giant Dalmatian, foaming at the mouth and teeth bared –covered in not only black but red damp spots. The picture alone covered over a quarter of the page. He sighed in exasperation at the huge piece on a popular form of entertainment: dog fights. It was a ludicrous pastime in his opinion. Not fun or exciting at all. It was rather dull really. Who would spend their money to bet on (let alone watch) two rabid dogs snap at each other's rears. He could walk outside right now and probably see just that.

He had nearly flipped to the next side. He had nearly dismissed the page entirely.

Further down the article on dog fights he caught sight of an something that made him choke on his tea.

He set down his china cup and grasped the newspaper in both hands. "...'After a long period of deliberation and persistence from their personification, the US government have announced that they will be introducing a law enforcement system to their country. Their wishes are to crack down on what they have labelled 'unnecessary and immoral killings'. The death penalty will be enforced on anyone who commits the crime of murder within their country's borders.'..."

A look of total incomprehension swept over England's face. After a few more minutes of incredulous gawking he managed to tear his gaze away from the article and instead let his stare fix upon America. America met his eyes tautly, quite aware of the lecture he was about to receive.

"A law enforcement system?!" England hissed in a brusque tone.

America's knee bobbed up and down nervously as he struggled to reply. He couldn't sit still. "That's kind'a why I came all the way out here. I wanted to see what you thought about it..."

"I would have thought my opinion would be apparent without even having to ask!" The Englishman all but yelled. "America, have you gone barmy?! Constabularies are simply not done! Nobody has one!"

"Netherlands does..."

"Oh, so just because Netherlands has one that makes it okay? Honestly America! If we all did what Netherlands did I would be having my tea with Marijuana cakes instead of scones."

"I'd rather take the drugged-up cakes over your crappy cooking." America grumbled, as he sunk lower into his chair, arms folded sulkily.

"I am trying to give you some advice here and you repay me by acting like a complete pillock!"

"It doesn't feel like advice to me! It's more like you're tryin' to castigate me!"

"I am not trying to bloody castigate you! I want you to understand that this new system of yours is going against every creed we nations must follow! It was written in the scriptures that as nations we must allow our citizens the freedom to take our flag and become the new embodiment by any means they deem necessary- that includes murder America!"

"Exactly!" America exclaimed in frustration. "It's the freedom to murder us! They can try and kill me; that's fine. But going around slaughtering innocents is not cool."

England stood and walked to the window. He leaned against its frame and let out a weary sigh. He looked drained, aged. He looked like a nation should. "Look, you are younger than most embodiments; you don't know how things work yet. Just give yourself a bit more time and then you'll understand how-"

"5 years is long enough to know how horrible it is seeing my citizens die at the hands of one another day after day. I've seen how all this bullshit works and I think it's sick!" America spat. His venom alarmed England. He had never seen him act this way before. "Murder shouldn't be legal."

"It's the way it always been." England attempted to reason with him softly.

"Well then, I think it's time for change." America pushed himself up from the worn armchair and made to leave. He stopped just before the door. He looked over his shoulder, staring England dead in the eye. "Call me when you think so too."

And then he left.

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**Next chapter! Hell yeah!**

**Look at my writing speed. I surprised myself.**

**So this chapter was a nice little look in to this universe I have created along with seeing two more characters. Next time I'd like to write about France but what I have in mind for him has the potential to go wayward so I might put him off for a little while. Maybe I'll try an Asian nation next. **


	3. Hungary

**Hungary**

With barley a sound her feet hit the stone floor. Elizabeta pressed herself against the wall she had jumped from, peering around the corner. There was just one guard. _Good._

She crept towards the man who blocked the path, carefully pulling out her blades. With the upmost precision and force the knives went plunging into the man's neck. She yanked at her weapons, drawing them from the flesh with little difficulty. She had done this more times than she could count.

She was a proficient killer but she didn't try to make every death flashy. She didn't try to avoid getting blood on her clothes. She didn't treat her knives like toys that she could perform fancy juggling tricks with.

That sort of stuff got you killed.

Make it brutal, make it quick. There was no need for flamboyance.

Elizabeta stepped over the nameless corpse to reach the wall and pierced her knives into the crevices between the masonry. She steadily climbed the castle's side, using her daggers as leverage to pull her up the sheer surface. It required a lot of strength in the arms which luckily she had, though she was still left panting when after she had finally managed heave herself over the side of a balcony.

She allowed herself a moments rest before rising to her feet and wiping the sweat from her clammy palms. She returned the blades to her hands, once again revisiting the uneasy sensation she got whenever she held them.

Her father had once told her that was ludicrous. Why should she feel nervous when the blade is not pointed at her? _You should feel safe Lizi; you are the one in control. _As much as she wanted to agree with him she could not. The knives made her apprehensive. But she wouldn't have it any other way. In her mind, to become too comfortable with something so lethal –even for someone in her profession- wasn't right. That feeling she got was the constant reminder of her humanity, be it torn and disfigured, it was still there. There was still some humanity left.

Elizabeta peered in through the window into the dimly lit room. In there she saw her target: the embodiment of Hungary. Unlike so many other nations who were generally known to be the old frozen in a body of youth, she was an ancient woman in both age and looks. She sat in a rocking chair by a fireplace, gently swinging back and forth as she stared into the dying embers of the fire. She looked absolutely harmless. _Well, apart from her eyes... _Even from this distance, Elizabeta could see that the lady's eyes were a startling shade of crimson. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was rather unsettling.

_Far too easy. I will feel almost excessively cruel for doing this._ Elizabeta almost sighed as she entered the room, bothering little with caution. There were no guards here (they were all at the castle entrance trying to disarm the bomb she had set up). It was only the nation here. And what could she do? Maybe if she was a nation with a young body she would pose a threat but she was just as frail as the day she became a country. How could she be dangerous?

Elizabeta slinked into the room, silent as the air itself. She would try to make this kill as painless as possible; it would seem utterly inhumane to be so brutal with someone so weak and defenceless.

She didn't even know her death was approaching. She would be completely oblivious to it.

Or so Elizabeta thought.

The aged woman began to speak to her without even turning around to know she was there.

"Ah, my child. Look over there." She pointed to above the fireplace. "See that frying pan hanging on the wall. It's very precious to me. A family heirloom one might say, handed from one Hungary to the next."

"I'm pointing knives at you!" Elizabeta exclaimed, feeling rather indignant at how blasé the woman was about the threat. She had been in these situations many a time and in none of them had she felt the slightest bit relaxed.

"Yes," The old lady laughed, now turning around to look at her. "I can see that."

She observed Elizabeta with an amused twinkle in her eye and after what seemed like forever under her scrutiny the woman said, "So someone has finally managed to breech my walls? I thought I would never see the day. You are here for my flag, are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"And kill me for it?"

Elizabeta remained silent.

"It's alright. It's been a long time coming." The old woman reached out to the table beside her and caressed the hilt of a small pistol. Elizabeta immediately took up a defensive stance but the woman made no move to shoot, she just continued to stroke the weapon. "I'm glad the day is finally here."

Elizabeta eyed her distrustfully, grip tightening around her knives. "What are you trying to accomplish with this? Are you trying to trick me out of killing you?"

"No, quite the opposite really. But I would rather if you did not win my flag by spilling my blood." "Tell me, what is your name Child?"

This caught her off guard. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment before she answered, "Elizabeta Héderváry."

"Miss Elizabeta, my dear, if I was to die now and you took my flag would you be sure that is what you would truly want? Is this the life you want?"

"You're going to kill yourself?"

"Young Miss, I asked you a question!"

"I..." She wasn't sure. Is this the life she really wanted? She had never really been the one who had wanted her to become a nation. It had been her parents. _Become a nation Lizzie. Continue what we started. Make us proud._

From the very beginning she had been raised to be a Nation Hunter and then to eventually assume the role of a country herself. It was a dangerous lifestyle but it was what she was used to. She was one of the best.

So should it really matter now if she went from one treacherous existence to another? Would it really make a difference? Arguably, yes.

But she didn't care. She had developed a penchant for danger.

"Yes." She replied with a new certainty.

"Good. I've been waiting for someone like you, someone strong enough for this life that won't die easily. This job needs more than just a flag to get you by; you need tenacity. There's stubbornness in your eyes child. You'll do well." The woman wrapped her gnarled fingers around the gun and raised its point to her head. "Goodbye, my successor, child of Hungary. Good Luck."

The shot rang out clear over the sounds of the far off screaming and the shouts of the guards.

Elizabeta was frozen to the spot as she stared at the woman who had once been the nation of Hungary. The wrinkled old body hung limply over the side of the rocking chair, still gently swaying.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

The young nation hunter laid a hand on the chair and stopped its continual rocking. She never once removed her gaze from the old woman. The sight of her vacant blood red eyes filled her with a strange emotion she could not quite identify.

She was dead. That should be a good thing. Elizabeta could now finally live out her parents' dream. She could become a nation.

_No! It... It's my dream!_

However the longer she looked into those eyes the more she felt like something was missing, like some power had been drained from the room. And now an increasing desire to reach out and rip the flag from the corpse's grasp was building.

It scared her.

She wasn't in control.

She fought against the feeling, quickly drawing back the hand that had been ready to take hold of the flag. She cradled it to her chest, abstractedly rubbing her prickling skin.

Why was she fighting against this?

Her father's voice sounded inside her head. _Isn't this what you want Lizi?_

"Of course..." She whispered.

_Then take it. _It was her mother.

"I want to! I do!" Elizabeta cried, her composure wavering. "I just feel like I don't have a choice..."

_Because of us?_ They said.

_Yes..._ "No. I mean I'm struggling to control myself. I want the flag so badly and that makes me feel... unsettled."

_It's natural to feel nervous Lizi. But you will love being a country. _Her father's voice was soothing, alike the way he used to comfort her when she was little. _You'll do great things. We know you'll make us very proud._

A grim look appeared on Elizabeta's face. "Okay... I'll do it." And so she let herself succumb to the monster within.

...

When the guards had finally broken through their leader's door they rushed in only to find her already dead and a new Hungary in her place, with a flag firmly in hand.

Her cynical green eyes turned on the soldiers. She saw them immediately fall to their knees, weapons dropped and bodies trembling. Their bow was one of absolute submission and worship.

It seemed whatever loyalty they had had for the former Hungary was now gone.

_So this is what it is to be a nation. _She thought. Her lips curled into a fiendish smirk, such a look she was not familiar with yet she found it fit her so well.

"You were right Mother, Father." The smirk turned into a grin. "I love it!"

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**That got weird...really fast. I'm not really sure if I like how I've done this. Ah, well. C'est la vie!**

**Ok, so not an Asian nation this time and I'm not even going to hazard a guess at what I'll end up writing next because it will probably end up wrong. I'll just go with the flow, play it by ear, roll with the punches... *jazz hands***

**See you next time I update in like a century or so!**


	4. France & Seychelles

**France and Seychelles**

They fell against the door of the hotel room France had checked into last minute, mouths heatedly pressed together in a battle of fervour. The French nation moaned pleasurably as he tangled his fingers into the woman's brown locks in order to deepen the kiss.

She pushed against him and separated from the passionate kiss, her mouth forming a small impish grin. "Monsieur, you are very good at this. Surely you must have experience, no?"

France replied with a smirk. "Not quite as much as I would like. I was hoping you would be able to help me with that."

She giggled and scampered to the bed. "Seeking expertise from a common waitress? You flatter me."

"Oh no, mon cher," His look was of a wolfish hunger as he approached his lover. "You flatter me by even letting me be in the presence of such a beautiful creature."

She blinked up at him through her dark lashes and whispered in her most provocative tone. "And for that comment I think you deserve a present." She tugged sharply on his tie, pulling him down. France caught himself before he could fall against her and hovered over her alluring form, letting his eyes rake over her, taking in her tousled hair with red ribbons askew, the rising hem of her dress and the mischievous glint in her eye.

He couldn't resist.

He swooped down and captured her lips with his own, all too happy to let her remove his already half-unbuttoned shirt. The familiar tingling sensation spread throughout his skin, originating from the trail she made when tracing her slender fingers along his bare back. The thrill, pleasure and ardour returned to him and filled his being, engulfing him like a ravenous predator. His lust was overwhelming.

France was far too besieged by his craving to even notice the way the woman began to smirk against his kiss and the lethal needle that she pulled from her clothing. She brushed back his flaxen hair, an action in the disguise of a amorous caress, and then raised the needle, ready to plunge it into the bare skin of his neck.

"Ah-" She gasped and dropped the needle as her wrist was grabbed in his firm grip.

He broke away from her and let out a disappointed sigh, "Not another trying to kill me? And I really had hoped you weren't a nation hunter."

The woman's eyes were wide and her lips were parted in shock. She stared up at the man who she had thought was far too sex-crazed to notice, to even consider she was a nation hunter. It was a grave miscalculation on her part.

...

"Could you send a car over? The usual hotel." France stood across the room from his would-be assassin, speaking amicably into a mobile as if she had not just attempted to do away with him. She had been propped up into a corner her hands and ankles bound together, preventing any form of effective escape. Her mouth was twisted into a distasteful frown, brown eyes narrowed into two dangerous slits.

He glanced over to her within a pause in his conversation. He saw her expression and chuckled. She hissed.

"Oui...Oui, It's another one. For my harem! "

"What!?"

France ignored her outburst and carried on with his exchange over the phone. "Ohonhon, oui! Elle est très belle et dangereux. But you know that's just how I like it. D'accord... A bientôt!" France hung up and turned to her, smirking, "From this moment onwards you shall be part of my harem. I think I'll have Jean-Paul teach you the ropes to start with until you find your feet; he's one of my most experienced paramours."

"Let me get this straight: You have a harem!? And you are getting one of your male prostitutes to show me how to please you with sex!?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"The rumours were true. You're licentious...carnal, lewd! Completely and utterly lecherous!"

"What else would you expect? I'm France."

She glowered at the nation in a hostile manner, wishing for nothing more than for him to spontaneously burst into flames under her heated glare. No such luck.

"Say...what's your name?" He asked her.

Huffing in frustration, she relied with a role of the eyes. "You didn't even ask me my name before deciding to 'get it on'. How can you possibly claim to be the nation of 'l'amour' when each of your actions seems entirely unsentimental and indifferent?"

After waiting a moment to see if she would receive an answer- and just as she expected he didn't give one- she continued on with a bitter tone. "I would be different. I actually care about what happens to the people of this country. I would be a good nation. Unfortunately I can't say the same for you."

France remained silent for a while, eyes averted to the window where he watched the sun slowly peak over the horizon. Without looking back to her he spoke, "You still haven't told me your name."

She sighed- almost resignedly. "Michelle. You'd do best to ask that earlier next time."

* * *

**I have never ever written anything the slightest bit raunchy before. That was a first for me and I don't think I ever want to write anything more that this ever. And if I have to write about it at some point in the future I will not turn it into a lemon. Let's just stick to 'they made love' shall we? Yep, yep! Sounds good! **

**...I'm scared of smut. (Even though I read it on occasions... You there! Shhhh! Don't tell anyone.)**

**France and **Seychelles guys! I'm actually kind of proud of this...in a way. In other ways not so much.****

****Later in the story I don't expect anything romantic to happen between them. This story is not for the romance! Besides, I can never really picture these two together as a couple. It always just feels more like a strange father/daughter relationship to me. Most fans will probably agree there though.****

****I was going to explain some stuff here but I'm to tired. It's nearly 1pm here. Night night! I'm going for some zzz's now****


	5. Russia & China

**Russia and China**

Flames licked at the stones that encased them, burning bright against the dimness of the room. Russia watched the fire as it danced and crackled. The light cast peculiar shadows that he once would have feared. He remembered as a child how those shapes would twist and grow in his imagination, becoming something so much greater and terrifying. He used to make his parents light a candle in each corner of the room to stop the dark masses from drawing near. He thought if one were to touch him he would be swallowed whole by the creature.

Once he was a little boy afraid of the gloom. The boy had been right about the shadows. They caught him and ate him.

Now he was a shadow himself.

Embers hopped from the hearth and Russia found himself imagining each glowing spark as a tiny human escaping the swarming flames, screaming in their last moments and then dying. They lose the glow and turn grey. They were funny little things.

"Russia...I'm here."

He turned to the voice. Russia saw the figure of China standing in the now open doorway. Light flooded in from the hall and illuminated the visitor. He shined brightly but when Russia looked down he saw that this man cast a shadow too.

"Ah, so you are. Come friend. Sit, sit." The large nation patted the settee he sat on with cheer.

China glanced warily at the seat Russia offered him before choosing to perch himself on the edge of the worn sofa, not far enough away to be considered offensive but far enough to make Russia's eyes narrow. Yet a smile remained on his face as it always had.

Russia removed a bottle from his grimy tan coat and took a large swig of the vodka inside. Smacking his lips together he offered the bottle to China. "Drink with me."

His refusal was polite yet somewhat clipped. "I'm afraid I've never liked strong alcohols."

Russia pushed the bottle into China's hands. "Drink." He said again.

The Asian man pressed his lips together and struggled not to wrinkle his nose at the stench of vodka drifting from not only the bottle but also from the man beside him. He took a tiny sip of the drink and then passed it back to its owner. Russia had seen the grimace he had attempted to conceal when he drank.

"Why am I here Russia?"China asked him plainly, directly.

The corners of Russia's mouth twitched downwards for a moment. "You are my friend. Friends invite each other over for drinks, do they not?"

"Is it because the slave trade routes skim your border now? I did try to get it further away from you but it just wasn't possible. It isn't within your land though. I made sure of that."

The slaves? Russia did not care about the dirty slaves.

"A little over a week ago," Russia began softly, surprising China, "somebody came to me. They were quite upset and they came to me. Do you know who, my friend?"

"Uh...no. I don't know."

"It was my sister. My wonderful sister Katyusha. She arrived at my doorstep at midnight, crying. And she did not stop crying the whole time she was here. I could not stop it no matter what I said or who I threatened to kill for her. She just kept crying. I did not feel powerful then. I felt weak. I was no nation then; I was a man who could not stop his dear sister's tears from falling."

China was stunned into silence. His body was rigid from a dreadful kind of amazement. He was filled with awe listening to this terrible powerful being speak. Russia was still the same now as he had ever been. He still gave of the same looming aura and he smiled the same as he had always done, but tonight it felt sadder. His smile carried more weight now than China had ever seen before. Maybe that was why it drooped into a frown.

If anything China found him more terrifying now as he murmured a tale of misery on this cold winter's night. It was disturbing.

"Do you want to know why she cried my friend?"

China licked pale lips. Yes, he wanted to know.

"At a school just outside of my sister's capital five heads were discovered mounted on the spikes of the school gate. Artem, Dasha, Liza, Dima, Yana. She told me their names over and over. They were not even six yet she told me. The heads were on the spikes and they delivered the rest of them to the parents of the children, mutilated beyond recognition. And with the blood they wrote Katyusha a letter."

In unsteady hands China received a neatly folded piece of paper. Russia pressed it firmly into his clammy palm before withdrawing his hand. He wanted China to read it.

Quite anxiously China unfolded it. He looked at the carefully crafted marks etched in red. It took only a second for him to realise what it meant. "It's written in Mandarin."

"Read it too me."

"But don't you know mandarin? Surely you-"

"Read it to me." Russia drawled with a leisurely hiss distinguishable in his voice. The harshness of his words made China falter.

The shorter man tore his troubled gaze from the Russian embodiment and looked down to the paper. He gulped quietly prior to reading. "To our dearest Ukraine,

We write this letter after our small demonstration at the primary school to implore that you give us your head before we take more. We have stumbled into a business deal that requires the Ukrainian flag (your position in other words). You would be doing a great favour to us and your beloved country by handing yourself over. When you have made your decision send out a public message so your choice can reach us. But don't take too long or we are afraid it will be more than five heads we put on spikes.

Yours sincerely,

The Red Peonies."

"This letter," Russia said, removing the paper from China's limp grasp, "is in mandarin, a language very commonly spoken in your country which means the group of people who sent this message come from your country."

"It is spoken in other countries too!" China voiced defensively.

"Yes, but with a population like yours I think it's much more likely they are from your country. Wouldn't you agree?" He leaned towards China, a sinister smile growing on his face. China endeavoured to stay firm and not to shrink back.

"What do you want Russia?"

"I want you to send out every man, woman or child you have in your control to find this group, these Red Peonies. Track them down and bring them to me so I may rip each of their heads off their shoulders and put them on the spikes of my own gate."

"Look," China wrung his hands nervously, "I don't mean to offend but just because they could be my citizens does not mean I have any obligation to do anything about them, especially when this is taking place within somebody else's borders. And the scriptures! They tell us that-"

"-That we must allow our citizens the freedom to take our flag and become the new embodiment by any means they deem necessary? That the active movement against a circle of nation hunters who pursue your flag is prohibited and will be considered an act against the Universal Personification League? Actions must only be taken at a minimum, just enough for self preservation? Yes, my friend. Every nation knows that. But what is to stop me from using active movement against a nation hunter group who is after _another's_ flag?"

"Russia, I really don't think-"

"You will do this for me little panda or I'm afraid our countries might have a falling out and that would be very sad. But then I don't quite dislike the fun of two nations brawling. It can be rather enjoyable at times, when I see them squirm..."

"...Are you threatening me with war?!"

"I do not need to tell you what I am threatening you with my friend." His curled lips and narrowed eyes made for the most menacing expression. In every way it felt unnatural to China. Russia had gone past the point of being natural though.

His perverse smile grew. "I need only for you to help me serve some justice. Shouldn't being such as us have this right? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, five heads for five more... I believe it is the only fair course of action, da?"

* * *

**Ohhhh...Scary Mr Russia. I hope I got the personalities right here.**

**Sorry for the wait for this...and the shortness...and the abrupt finish. I just really wanted to get this done. My exams are winding down and should be over soon. I just needed a bit of a break so I did some writing (and there's the bonus of this being almost like English revision).**

**I haven't properly checked this nor did I spend ages on it but as I said I just really wanted it done.**

**I might come back to this chapter and revise it in the future but for now it stays as it is. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Liechtenstein

**Liechtenstein**

It was small.

It was dark.

She couldn't breathe.

_I can't breathe._

Liechtenstein struggled desperately to calm her breathing. In and out. She sucked in deep gulps of air and squeezed her eyes shut tight. She tried to block out the little she could see to ease the fear she felt. It would all be alright. Her brother would come. He would save her.

The jagged pants turned into gentle huffs. She opened her eyes to once again face the dank room, the only light coming from the slither of a chink in the door. She could cope with that. It was not the dark that scared her.

She could hear them. Pacing. Shouting. A bottle smashing.

There was some kind of argument going on between her captors. She dragged herself towards the narrow gap in the doorway the best she could considering her bound wrists and ankles. She pressed her ear to the crack.

"-haven't heard back from Jan yet. We can still bet on him to pull us through."

"I don't make fucking bets Thomas. I don't gamble."

"The deal has gone slightly awry but we can still-"

"-Too right it's gone awry! They've fucked us over! They were never interested in paying us in the first place. The whole time they've planned for us to reveal our location so they can take Liechtenstein and the flag without paying. Any minute now they will storm this place and slit each of our throats."

"We've got guards posted around. We'll know when they're here."

"Yeah and that's it. We'll only know that they're here because that's all those supposed 'guards' will be good for. They'll only act as fodder for them. Do you really think a group of college dropouts, IT support staff and stay-at-home parents will be able to hold their own against professionally trained assassins and soldiers armed with an ample supply of rifles and grenades? We'll be slaughtered!"

"Jan! Jan is getting back-up!"

"Jan's probably dead! Most likely he was mowed down the moment he left our territory!"

"...But then... Kent, we've got kids here."

"I know! For fucks sake I know!" There was a loud scraping sound and then a string of curses. Liechtenstein assumed the man kicked a table. "Florian, your little girl, Claire's lot... all of them. I don't know what to do. If I move them they'll be passing straight into unsafe territory, but if they stay here..."

"Yeah, it's hard. I get it. We've all got people to look out for."

"You should just take Sarah and Alice and get out of here. In fact, tell everyone: leave now. We should all take different routes- more chance of getting away like that. If you see Florian send him over."

"I will..." His voice was soft, filled with understanding. "Kent, you know we've all got your back. We'll follow you wherever you go."

"Of course I know that."

"We can find the money for housing licenses another way. We'll make do."

"Yeah, we will."

Liechtenstein pulled away from the door with a trembling frame. Her shaking was so bad she gave up staying upright; she let herself sink to the ground. _Oh God... _She was never meant to live like this. She was not like her brother. She was fragile and could not fight. She understood things, even her enemies. She was too delicate, too aware. This was not the life for her.

She cried then.

She cried for herself. She cried for her captors. She cried for the world.

And once the tears started she couldn't stop them. One after the other they rolled down her cheeks in a steady stream. With each droplet that splattered against the dust covered floor her heart broke that little bit more.

She had questions for the world. Not God. If there was one he had surely given up on them by now. She wanted to ask the world why it was so terrible, why people had to die, why people had to live. She had been saved from the cold clutches of death once and given the status of a country. Why? Why should anyone be given this power if they did nothing with it? Her brother hadn't. She hadn't. She was wasting the life she had been given.

Both she and the world were terrible.

Was her existence a gift or a curse? She was terrible but could she be useful?

She could be useful now. She could save these people.

It didn't matter that they kidnapped her. They were college dropouts, IT support staff and stay-at-home parents with families and lives. They were people.

And that was the only fact Liechtenstein needed to compel her.

With a new and amazing strength flowing through her she hoisted herself from the floor, her body still trembling- not from tears but power. Now balanced on her knees she propelled herself forwards to smash into the door.

"What-!" A voice outside exclaimed.

"Let me out!" Her voice was firm, definite. She did not speak in her usual timid tone; this was the voice of a nation.

"Dad, who's that?" Another voice joined. He sounded younger than the kidnappers; he sounded to be similar to her age. "Why is she stuck in there? Dad?!"

"Not now Florian!" The man- Kent she remembered- barked. "Don't worry about her. Right now you have to listen very carefully to-"

"You will let me out!" Liechtenstein spoke again, her voice becoming even more commanding, even more confident. "I am your motherland. I am part of you and you will let me out."

"Dad! Dad! What is she talking about? She shouldn't be in there. We need to let her out! We need to-"

"Florian, ignore her! You have to listen to me. Soon it will get very dangerous here and-"

Liechtenstein thrust herself against the door once more. "Let me out!"

She continued to throw herself forward. Again and again, in a steady rhythm, she rammed into the bolted wood. Over the sounds of the hysterical boy and the neurotic father she listened to the constant thump.

And then all sound ceased except one.

The gun shot rung in her ears. It was a distant sound but it was still strange how much terror it could instil within her. A cold felling of dread settled in her chest; it was enough to snap her out of her empowered state. She was a young terrified girl again- a weak creature who leeched off her brother to survive.

A moment of absolute silence past, then everything descended into chaos.

Screams erupted from the outside world, beyond her prison. She heard deafening explosions and the agonized screeches. There were the shouts of men with guns and children's frightened calls. There were the parents who wept over tiny bodies and the bodies that were left without parents.

She felt them dying and it tore her apart. She could do nothing for them in here. Nations could not be powerful if they were rendered useless by a mere panel of wood.

"Florian, I have to go now. I want you to find Thomas or Claire and leave now, but you have to stay out of sight." Liechtenstein could imagine Kent so clearly. She could picture him with a hand placed on his son's shoulder, the other gently stroking his head.

"Dad, I-"

"Promise me you will stay safe." His voice was firm but his eyes would be soft. She could hear his desperation and affection as clear as a ringing bell.

"Ok dad..."

"I love you, son." And he left.

Liechtenstein couldn't handle this. Not anymore.

Her heart was breaking. What else could the excruciating pain she felt swelling in chest be? It was worse than anything her asthma had done to her. This was unbearable. The uselessness and the loneliness had become a greater illness than anything she had contended with before.

There was a light knocking against the door followed by a voice. "Hello?" It was Florian- the son of her captor, the son of a man who only wished the best for him.

She raised her head to stare forwards intently, almost as if she could see the boy through the wood. She replied softly, "Hello."

"Um, yeah, hello." He spoke in a distressed manner, with the urgency of someone in a panic and with the uncertainty of a child. "I'm, uh... I'm going to get you out of there. Just hang on for a second."

A moment later, after hearing some clanging and clattering from outside, he returned to ask her, "Are you away from the door?"

"Yes." She said after shuffling as far back as the room would allow.

She heard a grunt and then there was a crash. Wood splintered from the door, fragments landing in her hair. Light followed in the wake of the axe which had been plunged into the door. The brightness came in streams, filtering in and casting the rays against the peeling walls. It was the first light she had seen in days; between being blindfolded and residing in this room she had been kept in near darkness. She had forgotten how wonderful light was.

From the wreckage of broken wood stepped Florian. He was a lanky boy with a mop of brown curls parted awkwardly on top of his head. He wore clothes with patches and shoes that were a few sizes too small. His two front teeth were quite prominent and he was bent over panting from the exertion of using the axe. Despite it all, in that moment, Liechtenstein thought he looked angelic. He was truly a beautiful human. Maybe God hadn't given up on them after all.

He leaned against the doorframe, still breathless, and smiled gawkily at her. It made her want to smile back.

He outstretched a hand to her and she took appreciatively. She welcomed his kindness. It was hard to come by these days.

He hauled her up, enquiring, "What's your name?" as he propped her against the wall.

She took a second to think about her answer before mumbling tentatively, "...Erika."

"That's a nice name. Oh, hold still a minute." He carefully slid the edge of the axe under the rope of her ankles and then her wrists. The ropes fell and he gave the fallen bonds a proud look. "There you go!"

"Thank you."

"That's alright." He said warmly but then his tone slipped into something more sombre, his expression a frown. "I...I don't know what my Dad had you here for but I don't think it really matters much anymore...You should get out of here while you can; everything is kind'a going to shit and it just isn't safe."

She caught herself just before she could nod. She would not fall back into her docile ways. She was a nation and she was going to damn well start acting like one.

"No," She said resolutely, "I have something more important to do."

"Something more important than saving your own life?!" he asked incredulously.

"I know a way to get these people to stop attacking."

"What! Really?! What is it? Can I help?"

"I just need to...to talk to them somehow. I have something that they would be very interested in. I...I might be able to make a deal."

"And you...you think that would work?" Florian looked unsure. They hardly seemed like people to be reasoned with, but in this case Liechtenstein was quite sure they would listen.

She nodded with conviction. They could never refuse a nation and her flag, offered freely without a fuss. It would work. It _had_ to work.

Soon, Liechtenstein had managed to convince Florian enough that her plan would work, so that they were now sprinting down empty blood-splattered hallways, heels skidding in the thick red liquid every time they turned a corner.

"It's-It's a massacre!" She wheezed, horror painted onto her face as she ran past bodies of men, women and children alike. "How many people were here?!"

Florian's breathing was even heavier than Liechtenstein's yet strangely he was coping quite well with the gore surrounding him. He was rather pale and his face was fixed into a permanent grimace but apart from that he seemed well enough. She wondered what he had seen before now to make him so tough.

He answered her as they clambered over some rubble from a collapsed ceiling, gasping for air between sentences. "There are only about 30 members of my Dad's group but then a lot of them have children who were staying here too. And since this abandoned office we found was so big we invited other people without housing licences to stay here. You know... the people who've just got out of slavery, refugees or even the unemployed. They ended up coming here in hordes; there were a few hundred crammed into this one building. We struggled to support them all and that was a big enough problem in itself. We were starting to worry the wrong people would eventually notice us and I guess they already have."

"Oh no..." Liechtenstein whimpered. That was so many people, so many people who had the potential to die. She hoped there were still some left for her to save. _Please stay alive._

Florian led her down a set of stairs- beginning to fall to ruin- dodging remains and toppled cabinets. It appeared some sort of final stand had taken place on this stairway. Objects had been arranged in a way to form some sort of barricade with bodies from both sides littering the narrow space, empty guns fallen from their ice-like hands.

Each corpse was like a dagger to Liechtenstein's heart. The painful stab of guilt never dulled. To think all this fighting was over her. If Florian knew what she was would he talk to her so warmly? Would he still be as kind as to act as her guild, gently tugging on her sleeve when she froze at the site of the deceased? If he knew, he may have pushed her away in disgust. He may have wished her to join the dead. He may have even gone as far as to jam the axe he carried into her skull.

She was glad there had been no sign of Florian's father in these piles of lifeless limbs. She was not sure what would transpire then. To her knowledge Florian was not yet an orphan. He still had a family.

But then the little sign of life was also quite worrying. Both those attacking and those who had resided in this building were nowhere to be seen, except for those lifeless shapes sprawled across the floor. The only people they had come across were some hostile looking men near the room where she had been held captive for so many days. Fortunately she and Florian had managed to dive behind a large potted plant before being spotted. Still...it was awfully strange.

They were on the bottom level of the complex, making their way down a hallway filled with broken glass and derelict light fixtures. Florian pointed ahead at a set of double doors, standing slightly ajar. "There's the exit!"

They both slowed to a trot and exchanged a nervous glance before Liechtenstein made the first move forwards too peer through the gap in the open doorway. Florian followed shortly after, peeping over the top of her head.

What she saw made her squeak in alarm. Outside, under the waning moonlight rows of kneeling people lined the street- bloody, battered and with the trembling hands covering their heads. Soldiers patrolled the cowering humans, armed with guns and knives but with no sympathy to spare. In front of the group, a shaggy haired man was thrown to the ground. His head was butted with the end of a pistol and he cried out, clutching at his bleeding cranium.

The soldier who had wounded him grabbed a fistful of the victim's unkempt brown hair, raising him up to eye level as he spoke, "We sent men to where you said she was," His eyes were wide, crazed. And his lips were parted into an expression that was not quite a smile; it was a demented anger forced into some kind of perverse grin. There was really no way for Liechtenstein to truly describe that look apart from the fact it disgusted her. His words came out in a venomous hiss, "but she wasn't there. It looks like you lied to me. How many more need to die before you understand how unwise it is to lie to me?"

He was talking about her and it was disgusting. His face was disgusting, his behaviour was disgusting and his words were disgusting. Liechtenstein hated him. He was not human, not anymore.

She felt Florian's hand fist around her sleeve again- this time not so gently. Through his tight grip she could feel him trembling. She spared him a troubled glance and saw him staring directly at the bleeding man with unwavering focus. "That's my dad..." At first it was merely a whisper but then it became a fierce livid growl, "That's my dad."

He made a move to step forwards but Liechtenstein held out an arm to stop him. "Erika!" His voice was a mixture of indignation and appal. He looked at her like she had grown a second head. "Look what he's doing to my dad! I can't just let him-"

"Wait." She said calmly, interrupting his outburst. She crouched down low and scooped a jagged shard of glass from the tiled floor. Florian watched her without saying a word, her change in presence alone stunning him into silence.

It was back, that feeling, that power. She could feel it churning inside her, mingling with the anger, the guilt, the sadness... It all became one, one powerful emotion that made her the nation she was. This was no man she saw before her, nor nation, nor god. It was a monster. A vile, horrid, pathetic monster and she would save her citizens from its wrath.

Liechtenstein pushed open the doors with enough force to make them smash against the building's walls to create a tremendous din. All attention was immediately drawn to her, the wounded and fearful gazing up at her with wide eyes and the soldier's training their guns to her petite form. In the face of the danger she continued to walk steadily forwards, reaching a hand down her top as she progressed. From it she withdrew her flag in one fluid motion and came to a halt some paces away from the monster.

He looked at her and his expression became a happy one, like a child presented with a shiny new toy. He dropped Florian's father in a heap and took a gleeful step towards her.

"Stop." She commanded and surprisingly he listened to her.

He observed her with a tilted head and twisted smile. "You are Liechtenstein, aren't you?"

"Yes." She answered him with cold eyes.

"I've been looking for you Liechtenstein."

The distaste she felt for this being could be felt rolling off her in waves. "I know."

"You're not much of a conversationalist are you?" She didn't reply. "Or maybe it's just because of me." He leered, flashing his crooked teeth.

"I have a proposition for you." She began. He showed no signs of acting against her; he actually looked intrigued in what she had to say. "I want you to allow these people to escape unharmed and without being followed. In exchange you can have both my flag and I."

He chuckled as if he had just been told a very amusing joke. "As lovely as that deal sounds, why would I let these people go when I can have you and them for free? I will have over a hundred new slaves and the embodiment of Liechtenstein. That holds a lot of worth in today's current climate."

"You will let them go free!" She raised her voice to sound more daunting and more magnificent than most leaders could ever hope to achieve. Without hesitation she held the broken glass to her throat, her gaze opposing the monster's, never wavering, never faint-hearted.

His smile vanished and was replaced with an ugly scowl. "You kill yourself and I can take the flag."

"But you're not the one who the flag is for, are you?"

He snarled. Clearly she had trumped him. "No, I'm not..." He admitted bitterly.

"You need me." She stated simply, still holding both the flag and the glass clearly for all to see.

"Unfortunately," he drawled in a sullen manner, "You are right, Miss Liechtenstein. It is also unfortunate that I quite believe you when you say you will kill yourself. It's always the noble ones who screw up my plans." Reluctantly, he motioned for his subordinates to lower their weapons.

She eyed the monster, still with a certain level of distrust. She did not lower the glass yet. "I will wait for them to leave before I come with you."

"Yes, yes. We can wait." He muttered irritably. "Get going!" he barked, shooting a dirty look at Florian's father. Kent looked up at Liechtenstein with a gaze that was almost tearful. She could see his gratitude, his joy. Too quickly that look morphed into one of horror. It was not directed at the monster though, or Liechtenstein. He looked past her, transfixed, mouth gaping in absolute terror. He stammered for a few moments unable to form words but finally his voice managed to produce a guttural shriek, "Florian!"

She span around and saw Florian charging at them, axe held aloft. His eyes were burning in pure rage that she was surprised to find wasn't directed at her. He hated the monster too. He wanted the monster dead. He screamed profanities at him. "You're a liar! A cheater! A fucking bastard! I'll kill you! I kill-"

A single bullet tore through Florian's head like it was paper, ripping his skin, drilling through the bone. He hit the floor with only half a head, what was left disfigured beyond recognition. Florian was dead.

Everything around Liechtenstein faded to a blur, the distant wail of Kent echoing in the void. She stared at Florian's body in disbelief, unable to do anything but let out a small gurgling noise. Seconds, mere seconds ago, she had been about to save lives. Mere second ago Florian had been alive.

She was slowly managing to process it. Florian was dead. She felt an anger unlike anything she had felt before begin to bubble inside her. _Florian is dead._ She screamed hysterically, furiously, "Who shot him?! Who?!"

She first looked to the monster but both he and his followers were all in a state of disorder, none had fired their guns. In her fury and confusion she just managed to make out a familiar figure perched on a nearby rooftop from the corner of her eye, watching him rip the pin out of a grenade.

"No!" Her sob went unheard as a terrible explosion engulfed the area.

Citizens and soldiers alike scattered, yelling and crying, some with their skin scorched and sizzling. Some were on fire, writhing through the streets unable to be extinguished. Others were lucky enough to avoid the blast but were now panicked, screaming to find family members or scrambling from the scene while they still could.

Liechtenstein had not been near the explosion. Of course she hadn't...

Her knees gave way and she fell to the floor. She watched the atrocity unfold before her very eyes, no bullet ever hitting her, no blast ever burning her. She was completely safe as she watched everyone around her get slaughtered. The men, the women, the children, the monster... they all died.

Sometime later she found herself uncurling from the ball shape she had tucked herself into, removing hands from her face to see the hideousness she had tried to avoid. The red was everywhere; it was inescapable.

Through the dying flames and rubble and blood her brother walked towards her. When she saw him she cried. She was instantly wrapped in his strong arms, her back rubbed gently. She sobbed uncontrollably into his jacket, unable to speak or move. She could only cry.

"It's alright." He whispered softly into her hair, "It's over now. They're all gone. No one can hurt you."

_Idiot..._ How could he think he wept from fear? She wept because her brother had become her most hated monster.

* * *

**Oh my heavenly hot-dog! That was dramatic. There was way to much packed in this one but it just sort of materialized in my word document without me registering what I was writing.**

**I feel like I may have rushed it but I don't think the quality is too bad so, uh, enjoy I guess. Byeeeee!**


	7. France & Seychelles- II

**France and Seychelles**

The hallways they walked were lavish, decorated in the finest of ancient tapestries, antiques and fine furniture. It would be hard to realize they were underground if it were not for the dimness; the lack of natural light led to dark unknown corners where a lamp's light could not reach. There was the smell too- a stale sent that hung in the air.

France commented on this after getting a rather strong whiff of the odour passing a rather dusty looking stag head mounted on the wall. He wrinkled his nose in mild disgust. "I forgot this place had such an odd smell. Didn't I ask for air fresheners last time I was here?"

"Ah... You did but we ran out." Jean-Paul shrugged apologetically.

France gave him a perplexed look. It was not often that France had to point out something obvious to Jean-Paul. "Well, you could just buy some more."

Jean shook his head, his mouth pulled into a tight grimace. "I'm sorry France. The funds you left with us...we can't afford so much anymore. We've all had to tighten our pockets. We definitely can't afford air fresheners at the moment, not with everything else we have to pay out for."

"The money is already-!" France was taken aback. He had left behind plenty of money behind on his last trip away, granted he had not been back in over a year, but surely the multiple of businesses he owned should be making enough profit to sustain his underground hideaway and keep his establishments afloat. The Frenchman frowned, now feeling a strange uneasiness he hadn't felt for a long time. He decided to push the matter to the back of his mind for the time being. "Let's not talk about finances right now. I'd much rather enquire into how our guest is faring. Has she agreed to work for me yet?"

"Er... No. It's still a no. She is rather adamant about that..."

...

Michelle lay buried under a heap of thick luxurious bedspreads, cocooned in the darkness they provided. It was how she spent most days here.

She had been offered various forms of entertainment upon arrival: books, movies, sewing, painting, even a game of cards with some of the workers here. She chose to refuse them all. She did it too spite France, and his loyal employees too (who she was quite convinced were more than just 'servants'). She found it rather disgusting what he had going on here. Undoubtedly many of his loyal workforce had been brought to this isolated underground hideaway in similar circumstances to her own. Maybe he had left them in a room such as this one and eventually they had caved in.

Yes France, I'll be your faithful slut. Just don't keep me locked away.

_No thank you._

Maybe the others had caved. She wouldn't. She was different.

Michelle had always been different and she would continue to be different. She took pride in it.

Soon she would escape. But now wasn't the right time. She was waiting for _him_. France had to visit her someday; he could not leave her forever. As of yet she had not seen the embodiment of her nation since that night at the hotel. She had only ever seen Jean-Paul and sometimes a few others, who came to give her food and fresh laundry. They annoyed her. They were too insistent upon taking up France's offer. They said she would love it once she started working- apparently it was a very satisfactory and rewarding job. She didn't doubt it. However Michelle was not walking the lonely path of a nation hunter for satisfaction and rewards.

She had a country to save and if _she_ was France she could.

Michelle would kill France if she got the chance. If not she would escape and try again another day.

From beneath the sheets she heard a muffled knock echo around the room. She scrambled to remove herself from the covers in order to appear as had done every time Jean chose to visit her. She was to appear unfazed; never intimidated, never tired. She would remain constant. She would be never changing.

If she continued with the same obstinacy something would have to change soon. It _had_ to.

The door opened and Michelle sat prim and proper, staring at the wall intently, purposely making Jean wait to be acknowledged. She waited very nearly a minute before leisurely casting her gaze towards the door.

She sucked in a gasp after seeing it was not the usual visitor carrying her platter of food today. Jean-Paul was not even present. Instead, it was France.

She recovered quickly and did her best to wipe the shock from her expression, once again wearing a mask of indifference.

France observed her in silence for some time before gently shutting the stately door. He placed the food down on her bedside table and told her, "Its Cassoulet today. The chef thought you may like it."

He waited to see if she would give a response. She didn't so he continued with a new matter; he had wished to talk with here about this for quite some time. "I've heard from Jean that you have said no to my offer many a time while I have been away. I don't understand what's wrong with this opportunity. You're lucky to be in this position considering you tried to kill me, wouldn't you say? You will be provided with food, shelter, protection... kindness from everyone here. You can pick whichever job you would like. I wasn't being very serious when I was talking about being in a harem. I was just teasing."

"Oh really." The way she scoffed made it clear she did not believe him for a second.

"Yes, really. Think about the benefits to this. And it's all in exchange for just a little bit of work."

"For sex!" She exclaimed indignantly.

France closed his eyes and kept his tone as even as possible, "Prostitution is not their jobs."

"Not officially. Maybe they're maids or cooks but I know they all do it. I know they all let you have your way with them."

France struggled to answer this. He always tried to skirt around this topic when talking with people. It sounded too vulgar when it was put like that. It wasn't as if his staff had no other option but to have sex with him. They did have a choice. However, over time, it was just something that came with the job. They lived under the same roof as France! How could anyone not expect something extra to be going on? It was implicit. His workers accepted it- they never talked about it but they definitely did accept it. Well, he was under the impression they did. They never complained about the sex. They were always willing... Weren't they?

He felt confused now. Michelle's words rung in his mind. She made it sound repulsive. Sinful. Domineering. She said that they let _you _have _your _way with them_._ She did not describe it as an act of passionate mutual consent to something incredibly wondrous. She made it sound one-sided.

He could no longer beat around the bush with her but then he couldn't figure out a good way to justify himself, to appear less wicked in her eyes. The only answer he could give sounded childish.

"...They seem to enjoy it." He said lamely.

She sneered at him and let out a harsh bark-like laugh. "Ha! Oh, yes. They 'seem to enjoy it', do they? What a joke. So, what? Do they have some stupid grin plastered on their face while they're sucking on your dick?"

France was strangely upset. She had managed to leave him in a mixture of confusion and agitation. The way she could deride him and make him doubt himself was something no other person had done before- at least not since he was a child and that was over a decade ago now. How odd it was that she could make him feel like a filthy little boy who peeped on the chaste little girls.

He stumbled to try and explain himself. "That's not-! I didn't..." He wanted to tell her what he had meant, to make her understand. But he couldn't find the right words.

France sighed. He would get nowhere if he remained stuck in a conversation like this. It would be an endless loop of her ridiculing him and him trying to prove himself. "I will ask you again: will you work for me Michelle?"

She replied straight-away, her words so ready and so definite she surprised him. "No. I will not work for you."

"You've yet again refused me. You are such a stubborn girl."

"I will never agree to this! It's sick! So sorry, but you'll have to leave your cock dormant until you're able to find some other whore because you certainly won't find that person here."

Quite suddenly the look in France's eyes changed. It was a look she had seen him give her before yet today it was terrifying. From agitated to controlling, his expression was now something feral and menacing. It chilled her to the very core.

"Who said I needed your agreement?"

Michelle's breath hitched in her throat. "You wouldn't dare."

"How could you know what I would or wouldn't do? How could you possibly know what is beyond me? I have killed before; what is one sin more?"

He took a step towards the bed as Michelle equally shuffled back along the mattress. "No! Stop! Don't come any closer or I'll-"

"Or I'll what Michelle? We already know I can overpower you. That we found out from our earlier scuffle."

Michelle continued to move back and soon her head thumped against the headboard. She had nowhere to go now and France was nearly upon her. In a last desperate attempt to flee she leapt from the bed but France managed to snag her around the waist. He hauled her back onto the mattress so that she was facing down and he sitting above, pressing his weight into her, pinning down her wrists and legs.

"Stop it! Stop it!" She writhed beneath him frantically, trying to prevent this by any means possible.

He began to pull away at lacing that ran up the back of her dress excruciatingly slowly. Her fear peaked and her shouts became whimpers. "No. Don't..."

She felt as if her senses were going into overdrive. The sound of his ragged breaths clawed at her ears; it made her painfully aware of how close he was. But even more horrible was his touch. Every brush of his hand against her bare back burned at her skin like they were the flames of hell.

Michel pressed her lips together firmly, willing herself not to scream, not to sob, but she still felt her body tremble and the tears that began to pool in her eyes.

All of a sudden he stopped. "And you were right... I wouldn't dare." He re-tied the back of her dress and removed himself from contact, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

She lay there for a moment, too stunned to move. She then quickly staggered off the bed and stood some distance from him. She stared at him in a horrified silence before she finally found her voice and shouted, "What the hell was that?!"

"I-I... I don't know!" France wailed into his hands. He looked up at her, his expression panic-stricken. He was beside himself; he didn't know what to think anymore. "I guess I just wanted to make a point."

"You wanted to make a point?!" Michelle repeated incredulously, unsure if she was hearing him right.

France nodded meekly in reply, lowering his gaze to the ground.

"Is this what you did with all you employees? Pretend to rape them and then just turn around and be like 'Surprise! I'm just trying to make a point.' What a wonderful promotional message that is."

"You don't understand!" France cried, sounding pained.

"What don't I understand? That you're a sick fuck. No, I knew that already thanks."

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and uttered pitifully, "This is my way of protecting my citizens. It's my way of being a good nation. I need to protect you all. Things like rape or murder can happen so easily. Michelle, I need you to stay. You'll be safe here."

His sad eyes and dejected tone did nothing for Michelle. She felt no sympathy for this man. Did he even hear what he was saying? It made no sense. "Hiring a few people won't protect your citizens France! For every one person you supposedly 'save' hundreds more are dying or being put into slavery out there. You have the authority to do something huge yet you choose to sit here in you underground castle fornicating with your playthings."

"What could I do? My flag means nothing. Nations have no power." He hung his head dejectedly letting his hair fall over his eyes.

Michelle scowled, stomping towards him. She tugged on his unkempt hair raising him to eye level and smacked him hard around the jaw. He gaped at her, utterly dumbfounded, as a red patch began to bloom over the left side of his face. "What a load of bullshit. A nation is one of the most powerful beings in the world! Nations have a high position in government- where just one of their votes count for ten humans. Nations can rally the people too- they listen to their nation when they have something worth listening to. You know this country France. You know your people inside out. You are in tune with them like no other person could be. You know what the people want yet you fail to provide it."

"I can't!" France cried in a strangled voice, "I can't just change laws or cause some kind of rebellion."

"Why not?"

"It's... It's just the way it's always been."

"That's an awful excuse." She said with a frown. "Did you know the USA has recently revoked the right to be able to kill? Fancy that, the super power of the world is making a difference. So why can't you?"

"It could all go so terribly wrong. I'm afraid, Michelle."

"If you are going to think like that you might as well give me your flag now and let me kill you to boot. It's not worth you being alive if you're just going to squander what you have. But if you want to change- if you want to help this country- then I'm willing to give you a second chance. If it goes wrong it goes wrong but at least you would have tried." She smiled at him- actually smiled- after all he had done. He couldn't believe it. It seemed she was making a habit out of surprising France because once again she managed to render him speechless.

"It's like all those years ago when you used to help your citizens. You used to shut down slave businesses, feed the hungry, clothe the poor... You used to be so brilliant. My mother told me all about it. She would always tell me about the wonderful nation who saved her from slavery but then she died. I went into slavery and you disappeared completely. Where was the wonderful nation when I was a slave? I was angry at you for the longest time. I still am really."

"You were a... Michelle, I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry." She knew by the tone of his voice that he meant it. He truly regretted not being there. Now he saw someone in the flesh tell him what he did wrong and how he could improve he felt different. It was exactly what he had needed to push him in the right direction. "I will be better now, Michelle. I promise."

"I hope so." She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Or else I really will have to kill you."

* * *

**I bet you were all worried for a minute there! Heh heh no rape here please. Oh I can't stop giggling to myself though after I made France pull a 'surprise motherfucker' moment. And its not in the least bit comical so I really don't have any clue to why I'm laughing.**

**Somehow I'm getting the feeling all of the chapters with France in will become sexual somehow. I hope not but I think it just naturally writes itself that way.**

**Also I have realized that this is probably what people call a Dark!Hetalia fic because this is all so messed up. Well... more messed up than normal Hetalia at least. And Seychelles is swearing a lot here but then I guess a lot of people in her situation would be so I don't think its too badly OOC. Meh.**


	8. Hungary- II

**Hungary**

"Ah-Fuck!" Elizabeta cursed as her cup of coffee slipped straight through her fingers.

She was not normally one for clumsiness- at least she hadn't been before. After the flag, now that she was a nation, suddenly she felt tense, paranoid. Objects jumped from her hands and her feet sometimes felt like lead. It was not good for someone of her position.

Muttering profanities under her breath, Elizabeta stooped down to start gathering up the broken pieces of crockery. It would probably surprise her citizens to see her perform such a menial task. The thought made her want to scoff. Did they think there had been a silver spoon in her mouth before the flag? She had had a life before riches and power. She knew how to clean better than most. Yet she also knew how to fight better than most. It was an odd collection of skills.

There was no need to call a servant for something so minor. Not when to call a servant could be to call death to her doorstep. _They have pledged their loyalty, have they?_ No, they pledged their loyalty to the previous Hungary. What Elizabeta held over them was the power as their nation- that wonderful, bitter link between citizen and personification- to manipulate the lives of her domain as she pleased, but only to an extent. Fortunately most had not garnered this particular shred of knowledge. It would be the downfall of her and many other nations if such information became publicized.

"Are you a new maid here or something?" Elizabeta jumped, head hurtling forwards into a wall as she attempted to spring to defence. She staggered slightly, ignoring the new throbbing sensation on her forehead, and turned to the voice. With fisted hands and bent knees she appraised him. Tall, fairly skinny, but muscled- for sure- there was power behind his loose fitting, scruffy clothes. Long legs, good for kicking. Broad shoulders, good for packing a punch. His lankiness would not serve him well though. It made for awkward movements.

"What happened to that other woman- the pretty blonde one?" He asked and Elizabeta blinked in surprise. He had asked her if she was a new maid... There had been a pretty blonde one? She was confused. Was he oblivious her threatening stance or was he ignoring it? He was here for the flag, right? He wasn't a member of staff. That she knew.

How had he past her fortresses defences?

She looked at his features now, not his build. Pale. He was very pale. Not his eyes though. They were not pale; they were a striking red. Chalky skin and a pearly smile, then there was the white hair. His face was of youth though, not of age. There were no wrinkles. His lips curled and face his contorted into something roguish. She had always been unsure about the roguish type. They were hard to trust.

He cackled, a laugh that came for a joke that had yet to be said. Elizabeta felt out of comfort. The mirth in his eyes was too genuine. "Oh well, at least you've got a nicer ass than her."

She flushed indignantly. How dare he flounce into _her_ bedroom and start making such disrespectful comments. She marched towards him in a fury. "What do you think-"

"Hey," He interrupted, indifferent to her anger, "Do you know where my sister is?"

Her anger died down to be replaced with plain confusion. Was this man touched in the head? "Your sister?"

"Yeah. You know..." When she didn't come to any kind of realization he continued, "The personification of Hungary."

"But I'm-" _I'm the personification of Hungary,_ she was going to say, but then she realized something. Those eyes, those blood red eyes- she had seen them before.

"Jeez, you must be really new to not know who I am yet. Nobody told you about the awesome me? No one at all?" He stared at her, eyebrows raised in sceptical amusement. She didn't like it. As has been said before, his mirth was far too genuine.

Elizabeta could only shake her head in shock.

"Ah... Incompetent, they are!" He exclaimed with a grin, "I am the one and only Prussia, sister to the lovely Hungary. I haven't seen her in a while so I thought I would drop by and surprise her. Now where is that old hag?"

Prussia began to look around the room, almost as if his sister would pop out from behind the drapes. Elizabeta looked down at her left hand, still clenched tightly, and was surprised to see scarlet seeping from her fist. She uncurled her fingers. Broken china was cupped in her hand, wet and red. She dropped it and a panicked moan escaped her lips. It was not right for guilt to kick in now.

Drawn by the outcry, Prussia approached her, the rascally expression turned flaccid. "You're bleeding? Oh, ah- crap- hang on a minute," He tore off to rummage through the dresser by the window, now filled with her possessions. Not his sister's. "I'm sure she had bandages somewhere around here. I mean, I did last come here over 50 years ago. She's bound to change things around sometimes..."

Mumbling in threats to the oak dresser, Prussia continued to look fervently through the draws, coming across some of her lacy lingerie at one point. "Didn't think the hag was into this kinky kind of shit. Gross."

He spent a good ten minutes tearing the contents of her bureau apart, spilling clothing and trinkets all over the floor, something anyone else would receive a smack for, but right now she was struggling to even breathe.

Forced to give up, Prussia left his findings scattered and joined Elizabeta again. She had taken up a position on the four-poster bed in the time he had spent searching, hunched over, breathing arduous. She watched his sneakers draw close to her side through the auburn brown curls she let fall over her face. The blood red eyes appeared again when he peaked under the curtain of hair.

"You don't look so awesome. You don't have that anaemia thing, do you? I mean, I haven't actually bled in more than like- what? Five years now? Something like that... Maybe six." At the lack of response from Elizabeta Prussia cringed. He clearly was not used to being in the position of carer. "Er-You should put pressure on that! Here, let the awesome me just-" Prussia reached out to grab her injured hand, but the very moment they touched things went horribly wrong. They both knew it.

Prussia withdrew. His face had become oddly stony, somewhere between shocked and grimly aware. Elizabeta raised her face to look at him. There was no hiding it now. He knew. She knew he knew. He could feel the change.

"Hungary..." He breathed out.

Her face was a white sheet. "I'm sorry."

"You're-" Prussia had not looked away from her, he had remained transfixed. It was disturbing- too genuine. He struggled speak, voice almost a rasping garble, "You-You killed her."

Her head shook frantically, her eyes panic-stricken. "N-No!"

"Where's the flag?"

"I-I don't-"

"Where's the flag?!" His voice became a roar, his hand flying for Elizabeta's throat. She yelped, hands scrabbling at his, blood smearing over his ashen skin. The grip was not tight enough to kill yet it would tighten soon, she knew. "Tell me where the flag is!"

"I can't!" She squeaked, efforts to prise his hands off futile. "You can't have two flags. It's dangerous to have two!"

"And I think it's dangerous for a murderer to have a flag," he growled, eyes flashing menacingly.

"I'm not a murderer! I'm not!" It was getting harder and harder to talk, her airways constricting under his ever tightening hold.

"You have her fla-!"

"It was suicide!" She screeched. "She took a gun to her head!"

Elizabeta could see the same shock she had felt when the previous Hungary killed herself reflected in Prussia's face. His breath caught and his grasp slackened. In his moment of trauma, Elizabeta moved. Her good hand lashed out, palm flying into his throat. He gagged reflexively, making it easy enough for Elizabeta to leap forwards to push against him, toppling him sideways, and allowing her to stagger off the bed towards the fireplace. She grabbed at the wall mount, fingers swiping at thin air a few times before wrapping around a cold metal handle.

She was dizzy from the lack of oxygen, head thumping painfully, and hand stinging in the most inconvenient way possible, yet she still managed to stumble towards Prussia, frying pan raised in defence. "Don't you dare touch me again or I swear I will smack you all the way to Austria."

And in that moment, Prussia did the most unexpected thing. His face, which just seconds ago, had been the epitome of rage, melted into a look so tender it almost made her drop her frying pan.

"You sound like her." Tears began to well in his eyes and he looked away, slumping to the ceramic covered floor. A hand covered his eyes and heavy silent sobs began to wrack through his body.

Elizabeta didn't know what to do. She was at a loss.

The hands holding aloft her strange weapon of choice fell limp. She stayed motionless and watched the dissolved nation weep.

* * *

**Phew! Its been a while but a least I've updated, right? Right... It got pretty dramatic in this chapter. I think I need to go cool off somewhere.**


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